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In-ho hadn’t paid too much attention to player 456. Not at first. That day– he had been expecting the man to get on the plane and see his daughter again, live a fulfilling life, and hopefully, forget. Forget everything that happened, bury his memories of the games and of those who died. Whether it was through alcohol, drugs, or even people, he expected player 456 to fall back into society.
Player 456– Seong Gi-hun– didn’t.
In-ho isn’t necessarily sure when player 456 turned into Gi-hun.
Sometime ago, he was on a boat with his colleagues. Their conversations ranged from being work related to the nice weather to what they were thinking of doing later. Until In-ho told them about player 456’s whereabouts, and what he had been doing. His second in command questioned him, asked if they should just kill him and get it over with. They have the resources to make player 456 disappear, it wouldn’t be very hard. In fact, it would be much too easy.
“Seong Gi-hun has already won the games. Give it a year, he’ll give up and do something else once he realizes how futile it is,” In-ho states.
“And if he doesn’t?” Captain Park asks.
In-ho pauses, “I’ll handle it.”
“You?”
In-ho doesn’t think much about what he says next, “I’ll make sure Gi-hun doesn’t interfere.”
“Gi-hun?” It makes him pause.
He has to correct himself. He isn’t sure why that happened, but he laughs it off and proceeds to change the subject. He isn’t sure why that moment lingers on his mind hours, days, and weeks later.
In-ho isn’t sure why he now stands outside the dingy motel that Gi-hun operates out of.
He assumes the man must be asleep currently, or at least close to it. Over the past month, he’s had some of his workers check in on Gi-hun. Collecting intel. In-ho justifies it by reasoning that Gi-hun could cause a disruption to the games and it’s best to have as much information as possible…– even if he knows well in his heart that Gi-hun is very alone and could technically be quietly dealt with.
Especially now, when he’s alone and so, so human. Succumbing to his frail and weakening body. Gi-hun is less than a horse like this, more comparable to an unassuming fly. Ignorant to its impending death. It would be so easy to do.
In-ho stares into the camera above him. He’s at the front door– knowing full well he’s not going to use it. He waits. One minute turns into two, two turns into four, and four into eight– until ten minutes pass. To his disappointment, his assumption that Gi-hun is asleep might be right. Unless he’s taking his time walking to the door, gun in hand. That’s fine, In-ho isn’t too worried about his own death. Someone else will just take his place if he’s killed.
He waits patiently. Another ten minutes pass. In-ho decides to press the doorbell, then he looks up at the camera for the last time. Once he’s sure that Gi-hun has seen him and is aware of his presence, In-ho makes his way to the back of the motel. He’s already had some of the guards disable the security there, the cameras being quietly destroyed and the motion sensors tampered with to where they won’t alert Gi-hun to what In-ho is doing.
Carefully, he pushes open the back door and makes his way into the motel. He can hear Gi-hun’s frantic steps, and hides in the shadows. He watches as Gi-hun approaches the front door from a distance. He thinks to himself what Gi-hun’s thoughts must be. Is he scared? Horrified? Or pleased that he’s finally had something akin to a bone thrown to him? He watches Gi-hun open his front door and point his gun to nothing. In-ho watches as Gi-hun cautiously steps outside, observing as much as he can of the other man before Gi-hun looks back into the motel– which sends him ducking behind the corner. There’s the sound of the front door quickly closing and locking, before In-ho can hear Gi-hun’s muffled voice yell, “Who’s there!?”
Gi-hun must think that he’s outside. Good. Let him think that. It gives In-ho more time to check out the motel. See what Gi-hun has been up to.
He decides to go to the second floor, see if there’s anything of note there.
The lights heavily flicker, like there’s something disrupting the electrical system. They’re already pretty dim, but their wavering makes the motel feel even more eerie. In-ho has seen a lot of things, both as a police officer and as the Front man, so he remains mostly unfazed at how claustrophobic and odd the motel is. Mostly– because he still feels an air of uneasiness at how the shadows tend to morph a bit. How endless and long the hallways seem despite being a small, dilapidated building on the outside.
He finds what must be Gi-hun’s room. The door is left wide open and In-ho takes a look inside. There's a messy bed, a table that’s unclean and cluttered– a mess of dirty containers and bottles, and a desk with several monitors on it and one or two pictures of what In-ho assumes to be better times. A girl is smiling brightly in one of the pictures, next to a healthier, albeit younger Gi-hun. From the monitor, there’s a view of the outside. Gi-hun can be seen and heard on one of the cameras still yelling for his stalker to show themselves. It’s comedic. In-ho decides to rummage around, to try to find anything else of note before checking some of the other rooms.
There’s one room that is locked and he has a feeling he knows what’s inside so he doesn’t bother trying to check it. The other rooms don’t have much to offer, they’re just decently furnished and mostly untouched.
He goes back to Gi-hun’s room with the monitors, and watches as the man slowly walks back to the front of the motel. His body sluggish and weary, and even with the grainy camera, In-ho can tell that Gi-hun’s eyes are struggling to stay open as he slowly fumbles the lock. He watches as Gi-hun pulls open the door and makes his way back into the front, having to catch himself on the wall. He watches Gi-hun try to push himself off, only to end up falling back onto the wall.
It’s something that ticks In-ho off, even if he isn’t particularly sure why should care about trash that got lucky. A racehorse that pulled itself forward at the last second. He argues with himself that it’s just because Gi-hun has the potential to cause a minor issue with the games. A problem that needs to be eliminated so their operations go smoothly. One exhausted, emotionally volatile man couldn’t stop the total operation they hold each year. Gi-hun can’t change anything, unless he changes the system. A sisyphean task.
In-ho scoffs at how arrogant Gi-hun is, and decides to go downstairs and settle it himself. He’ll give Gi-hun a warning, and a final chance to stay out of their way. Each step he takes down. In-ho becomes more and more brazen, ready to reunite with the former winner.
He ignores how heavy his heart becomes seeing Gi-hun, slumped over in the corner. So small and feeble. Unaware of the danger that’s ahead of him. Odd, Gi-hun was so loud and alert and now he sits still and unassuming?
In-ho purposefully almost stomps over. Makes his footsteps a bit more noticeable. Not too loud, but not quiet. Enough for Gi-hun to hear, to scare him back into awareness. In-ho doesn’t need it, but he’s well prepared in case Gi-hun does try to shoot him. He has one hand at his side, ready to draw if he needs to.
He comes closer, until his shadow devours Gi-hun. In-ho thinks about how fitting it is, Gi-hun constantly chasing their shadows and now, enveloped in it.
In-ho raises his voice and says, “Player 456.” His tone is kept neutral, he can’t be showing favoritism after all. This visit doesn’t mean anything, it’s only meant to be a warning to Gi-hun.
But Gi-hun doesn’t respond. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t move, he doesn’t even acknowledge that the man he’s been hunting for so long is now right in front of him.
His body sits crumpled next to the wall, as the lights of the motel flicker and dance around them both. In-ho tries again, “Player 456.” He says it louder, more eager for Gi-hun to acknowledge his presence. It’s petty, but something about the sight of Gi-hun, so vulnerable and neglecting his health, makes him upset. Up close and despite his mask which rests heavy on his face, In-ho can notice the smell of alcohol and smoke. How Gi-hun’s cheeks have sunken in, and the darkness underneath his eyes. It makes for a sorry sight. Especially of a winner.
This should not have been Seong Gi-hun’s ending.
“You should be in America. With your daughter, not–” In-ho pauses, “Not–... not here.”
He’s unsure why he says it. Why he bothers saying it aloud when Gi-hun isn’t even listening. He’s in deep slumber, his body finally giving out after being pushed to the brink for such a long time. In-ho doesn’t know why his voice wavered and shifted to a softer tone, why for a second, he felt something close to guilt. Guilt that makes him rethink his visit.
In-ho isn’t sure what to do. As the Front man, he should walk away– whether it’s by the unexpected sight of Gi-hun collapsed by exhaustion or by his own internal conflict, In-ho has been compromised. Maybe plant a few more bugs? No. That’s beneath him, but going to track down a previous winner who has misplaced and stupid ideas of heroism is beneath him. He looks at Gi-hun again. He wonders if he stares enough, maybe Gi-hun will get the feeling of being watched and wake up. In-ho thinks the sight of his mask and uniform will be enough to jolt Gi-hun out of hazy semi-consciousness. Then they can have their talk.
He waits and observes the way that Gi-hun’s chest rises and falls. Tries to see if Gi-hun makes any sort of movement that indicates he’ll wake from his slumber and face him. He waits more patiently than he should. There’s nothing. Gi-hun sleeps like he’s dead, like his body was meant to be stuffed in a coffin then cremated on that island.
In-ho should walk away. He should leave. This was a stupid idea anyway and he doesn’t know why he bothered. Gi-hun is nothing to the operation, just a name on a page and someone who got lucky. It doesn’t have to be him that interferes, sending someone else would be just as efficient and effective. In-ho is about to walk away, he’s already turned back and ready to go when he hears Gi-hun stir and mumble a name.
“Sang-woo–” his voice cracks, it’s barely audible. Gi-hun’s voice says it with so much reverence and adoration. And Grief.
In-ho has seen it before on others. He’s lived it. His tongue becomes numb, unsure if he should say anything. But why would he say anything to a man who’s asleep?
He remembers. Player 218. He remembers how it came down to him and Gi-hun, how Gi-hun was willing to sacrifice everything for the other man. It’s no surprise he grieves him so fervently. The lights flicker again, but this time– they take a while to turn back on. In-ho is left in the infinite darkness of the motel. His shadow– once consuming Gi-hun, has been voided by the shadow of the motel itself. It gives In-ho time to leave without Gi-hun ever knowing he was there.
But he doesn’t.
He stays and watches over Gi-hun, who’s slumped into the corner, crying out for dead men and women who he’ll never see again. It’s a pitiful sight, but…
Something about Gi-hun reminds him of a different time.
In-ho remembers when he first lost her, sleeping became unpleasant. One side of the bed was empty, a constant reminder of his loss. His mind would replay things she said when he closed his eyes, sometimes– her face would momentarily appear before disappearing again. In-ho would wake up and proceed to look at every photo he had of her on repeat, always so fearful he would forget about her. How would he remember her touch, her warmth, her love– if she wasn’t there next to him?
He remembers it clearly, Gi-hun’s sad state reminding him of a period of his life when he too, was haunted while both awake and asleep. How he was made a fool by his loss.
How– on one night, he passed out on the floor from sheer exhaustion. In-ho doesn’t remember much, he just remembers pacing one night, kept awake by stress, guilt, and loss– kept awake by each death he witnessed and– caused. Then, just blacking out and waking up when the sun shone too brightly for his curtains to contain. He remembers how he felt waking up on the floor, one side of his face numb and an arm that buzzed like there was television static underneath his skin. Red creases littered one side of his body. He remembers too well, the miserable feeling of waking up, slowly becoming aware of who he is, what he’s done, and all he’s lost.
He remembers how his heart burned in that moment. How it can never burn the same way again– because In-ho has decided to hollow out his own chest, then to ever face that same pain again.
When the lights come back on, Gi-hun twitches and it makes In-ho flinch. Ready for Gi-hun to finally see him, to meet with the Front man. But Gi-hun doesn’t wake up, rather he just curls in on himself, clearly uncomfortable with the light. It’s a pathetic sight, In-ho thinks. This is not a prized racehorse, rather, Gi-hun like this– reminds In-ho more of a frightened rabbit.
He ponders his next move, then draws closer to Gi-hun who is peacefully unaware and kneels down. He’s close enough to see each strand of hair through his mask, to watch each of Gi-hun’s short breaths. If Gi-hun were to open his eyes, the first thing that would greet him is the sight of the Front man’s black, geometric mask.
He knows what he should do, but In-ho can’t help but slip his hands underneath Gi-hun and to lift him up from the cold, dirty floor. He might be trash, a racehorse– a rabbit, undeserving of mercy, but In-ho gives him it anyway. Whether he asked for it or not.
Gi-hun isn’t very heavy. He’s lighter than In-ho thought he would be. Trying to adjust his hold, In-ho moves his arm a little bit. Then, he begins walking past the front desk with Gi-hun cradled in his arms. He could probably drag Gi-hun up, or slide an arm underneath his shoulder and carry him that way– but he figures this way would be less likely to disturb Gi-hun. Their chat can come later, when Gi-hun is well rested and ready to actually listen to what In-ho has to say. It wouldn’t be much good to talk with him now, when Gi-hun is so out of it. Besides, it would be too easy to let Gi-hun waste away.
As he carries Gi-hun up the stairs, he ponders more and more about what must be running through the other man’s head everyday. Each step upward makes Gi-hun’s small snores less noticeable as they blend into background noise in between the sound of footsteps and the unsettling sounds of the motel. Gi-hun breathes very lightly and once again– In-ho is reminded of a corpse. In his arms, Gi-hun is still and light enough to be one.
The lights on the second floor are noticeably dimmer than when In-ho was first up. It’s something that sends warning signals all throughout his body, but he continues to walk forward to the door of Gi-hun’s room.
He passes by many other doors and is surprised at how… narrow the hallway seems to be. It might just be a trick of the dying light, but In-ho swears it was much wider his first trip upstairs. Something about this motel isn’t right, something about it makes every hair on In-ho’s body stand. There’s the urge to look back because it feels as if something is constantly breathing down his neck.
But of course, there’s nothing.
He wonders how Gi-hun could possibly live in a place like this. It makes In-ho feel so unsure of himself. He’s never been too superstitious, and dread isn’t something he’s felt in a long time. Yet, the motel seems to be able to create doubt within him with its claustrophobic hallways and uneven lighting.
In-ho writes it off as his own paranoia getting to him, maybe the amount of cameras Gi-hun has placed around the motel and down the hallway is getting to him. He doesn’t want to think that it’s anything more than his own weary eyes, the weakening lights of the motel, and Gi-hun’s paranoia slowly seeping into In-ho’s person.
When he’s there– at Gi-hun’s room, In-ho slowly nudges open the door with the side of his body– carefully holding Gi-hun so the other man isn’t hit by the door in the process. The very creaky and breaking wooden door that sounds like a screeching ghost. It makes In-ho wince, the hinges look rusty and ready to fall apart.
In-ho is almost worried it’ll wake Gi-hun from his slumber, but all the man does is shudder at the noise and curl into In-ho’s body. As if he were seeking protection from In-ho, from the Front man.
Gi-hun’s room remains a mess. Some of the bottles have made their way onto the floor, somehow. They still stand upright though, and In-ho isn’t necessarily sure how that happened. Maybe he just didn’t notice the first time. His cameras flicker in the background, their screens slightly dimmed now. In-ho is reminded he’ll need to delete some footage later on.
He makes his way over to the bed and wonders if he should move some of the pillows and blankets that seem out of place. He snaps at himself for caring more than he should. Why does Gi-hun’s comfort matter to him?
In-ho places Gi-hun down in his messy bed, and tries not to startle him awake. Carrying a grown man across the motel and up a flight of stairs, while not trying to disturb his rest was a bit tiring for his arms. He watches as Gi-hun spasms a bit, having to adjust to his new setting. In-ho watches as his face twists, a frown settling on it unconsciously. Whatever Gi-hun is dreaming about must be unpleasant, it’s probably a nightmare. He makes a few noises that indicate the latter. In-ho takes a seat down on the side of the bed, sinking into the mattress carefully and slowly so that Gi-hun’s rest isn’t disturbed. His eyes go to Gi-hun’s face, a mix of emotions swell in the open chasm that is where his heart should be.
Gi-hun looks so small and fragile like this. That frailty reminds In-ho of–
In-ho should have more reservations about what he does next. It’s a violation of privacy, a move far too intimate for him to make, but his entire trip to the Pink Motel was a violation of privacy and In-ho is far from a good man. What Gi-hun doesn’t know will never hurt him. This moment is for In-ho and In-ho alone.
In-ho brings his hand up to caress Gi-hun’s face, lightly holding it in his palm as if he knew Gi-hun personally. It’s the first time in a while since he’s done such an intimate gesture. Felt another person’s face like this, held someone in a way that matters. It might just end up being his last too. He savors the moment, even if it’s meaningless with Gi-hun asleep, even if he knows he is despised by Gi-hun.
But Gi-hun seems to lean into his touch, almost nuzzling his hand. So peacefully ignorant of the danger, of whose hand he seeks comfort from. Something akin to sadness worms its way into In-ho’s chest. His deepest cavity. It aches and pounds like there’s something living there.
Finally, Gi-hun settles and he looks noticeably calmer than before. All of the tense creases on his face have evened out, and he doesn’t squirm anymore. In-ho should leave, his hand shouldn’t be anywhere near Gi-hun’s face– yet he doesn’t and his hand instead moves to briefly touch the choppy hair that rests atop Gi-hun’s head. It’s such a stark contrast to the fluffy, kind waves the man initially had. Whereas that hair curled and befell Gi-hun like gentle ripples on water, his new spikey hair reminds In-ho of freshly cut grass. Standing upright and ready for whatever comes next, but still so soft.
He spends a bit more time admiring Gi-hun like this. In-ho is not a good man, and after tonight, he’ll be questioning his sanity as well. But something about Gi-hun makes his thoughts drift into more pleasant times. Times when he wasn’t haunted by those already gone from their world. Times when guilt meant knocking over a glass of water.
In Gi-hun’s vulnerability and grief, he sees both the people he’s loved and himself. He remembers how– when he was still a good man, those he held dearly weren’t afraid to lean on him. For he was their protector. He also remembers how, after his– loss, In-ho was consumed by feelings of guilt, anguish, and sorrow. How he let himself waste away.
He was lost for a while, unsure of what to make of himself. Until his calling came.
How sentimental of him to want to give Gi-hun the same opportunity.
Racehorse, rabbit, corpse– he thinks Gi-hun could be something more with time.
One day, the time will come for them to truly face each other. In-ho wonders if then– he’ll have the mask on or not. He wonders how much Gi-hun will change, if he’ll be strong enough to face the truth or if he’ll resist it every step of the way. As In-ho thinks, his hand once again slides down to Gi-hun’s cheek in an odd caress.
Hero.
In-ho thinks it’s a nice role, as fictitious as it is.
He hopes Gi-hun can keep himself alive for now, until then.
In-ho removes his hand from Gi-hun’s face and slowly stands up from the bed. He glances at Gi-hun once again, it shouldn’t matter to him. What happens to Gi-hun from here– it shouldn’t matter.
But somehow, it does. There’s something that twists within In-ho’s chest, open and raw as it is, still unhealed from his own grief. Something he wasn’t sure was there anymore.
In-ho decides to leave and let Gi-hun get the rest he needs. Should he continue on this path– they’ll meet again anyways. He makes sure to alter the footage of him in the motel, and by the time he’s done there’s no trace of him. The Front man was never here.
He has the cameras turned off as well. Gi-hun will know he was there, but he won’t be able to ever prove it. Besides, climbing out the window would be unsuitable for him as he is. Maybe a few years ago when he was a detective, but not now.
Walking back down the long, narrow hallway is daunting. Especially now that he’s alone. In-ho has seen far worse, he doesn’t know why this old, dingy motel makes him feel so unnerved. The lights are more steady this time around too. Before stepping down the stairs, In-ho turns back, not knowing what to expect but still having a feeling that there’s something there. Watching him, despite having disabled the cameras.
Of course, there’s nothing. Just his own mind playing tricks on him.
It’s just the light. It’s just how he was already made uneasy by Gi-hun’s sorry state.
He makes his way back out the motel, where a car is there waiting for him. The night sky offers no stars tonight.
He takes another look back at the window of the room where he left Gi-hun. Something stares out at him. It’s too dark to make anything out, even with the glowing neon signs and streetlights around the motel. He wonders if it’s Gi-hun, having woken up not where he fell asleep. Confused, dazed, and checking the outside to calm himself.
He thinks it’s Gi-hun. It certainly looks like him, same lanky silhouette.
In-ho doesn’t want to think about what else may lurk in that motel.
The figure comes closer to the window, but In-ho doesn’t bother to wait. Gi-hun has seen him. That’s all that matters. He has the warning now, that they know where he is and can take him out if they need to. No amount of security can save him, can stop them. If they really wanted it, he would be dead.
In-ho gets into the car and the driver already knows where he’s headed to, so they don’t waste time and leave before Gi-hun can turn the car into target practice.
Still, he has some hopes for Gi-hun. Let him indulge in his heroism, In-ho will deal with it later.